


Moonlight

by TartanLioness



Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Adult Content, F/M, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 16:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TartanLioness/pseuds/TartanLioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First came tartanlioness’ answer to the 100prompt number 88: Moonlight. Next came nocturnefaure’s answer of her prequel challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight

Title: Moonlight

Author: tartanlioness and nocturnefaure

Summary: First came tartanlioness’ answer to the 100prompt number 88: Moonlight. Next came nocturnefaure’s answer of her prequel challenge.

 

_A/N: To be perfectly accurate, there wasn’t a full moon in May of 1945 until the 27 th, but we didn’t think that much time would go by before they would have this conversation..._

…

Christopher Foyle lay awake. This in itself was not unusual, but this night he wasn’t mulling over a case or thinking about Rosalind or worrying about Andrew, nor was he huddled in a shelter as bombs fell from the sky. In fact, now that the war was over and he had retired, he was hoping to never have to do three of those again.

Instead he was pondering how he had come to be such a lucky dog.

 

Summer had come and it was warm in his bedroom. Next to him his sleeping driver had kicked off the covers and rolled onto her stomach as she slept.

The moonlight shone through the window and caressed her naked body, and Foyle lay close to her, letting his eyes roam over her form. She was turned away from him, her hair resting in messy waves over her bare back and freckled shoulders (Foyle took a moment to recall the time he had spent tasting the freckles on her soft, pale skin earlier that night) and he let his gaze wander from her curls, following the curve of her spine down to her buttocks, the skin looking silvery and infinitely soft in the light from the nearly full moon.

 

He couldn’t help himself; he reached out and touched her hip gently. She moaned quietly in her sleep and shifted, rolling over to face him. In her sleep, her sweet face was relaxed, her mouth pouting slightly as though she were expecting a kiss. Her eyelashes, a shade or two darker than her hair, formed a fan across her cheeks, fluttering as she dreamed.

  
Again, Foyle marvelled that this beautiful, intelligent young woman loved and wanted him as much as he wanted and loved her. Part of him felt guilty that he had taken her to bed so quickly and without the benefit of wedlock, but she had been so enticing and passionate and he had needed her so much; she had told him she wanted him and when had he ever been able to deny her anything? He only hoped that she wouldn’t regret what had occurred between them when she woke up.

 

But he also knew that no matter what happened, he would always remember the sight of her sleeping, naked body in the moonlight.

 

////

 

Such a warm night for this early in May, DCS Foyle had thought earlier that evening, as his driver Samantha Stewart pulled up next to the house and stopped the car. He’d glanced over at her to see a faint sheen of sweat on her brow, but she had not removed her hat while they drove, as he had done, though she had taken off her heavy driving gauntlets early in the day. She had her eyes closed for a second as she used a handkerchief to blot her brow. Suddenly she noticed that he was watching her, at the moment that he’d normally alight from the car.

Eight p.m., his watch had informed him. As late as they had worked, the sky was still dazzling bright and the gulls calling noisily.

“Tired, Sam?” Foyle asked her with an empathetic little smile. As usual when he gave her one of those, her stomach dropped in that peculiar way, and she felt the quickening of her heartbeat. She wondered (as she had so many times before) whether her smile ever made him feel pleasantly nervous. Sometimes it seemedto her as if it did.

“Just over-warm, Sir. Perhaps I’ll go for a walk by the sea after I’ve dropped off the car.”

He tilted his head slightly and his hooded eyes held a look she could not quite interpret. Amused? Tender? A blessed breeze cooled them through the window, bearing a touch of ocean scent. Sam felt another odd flurry of excitement; _something was happening._

Foyle looked at the hat in his hands and then lifted his hand to massage his forehead thoughtfully as he braced it with his thumb and a couple of fingers.

“Mind if I join you?”

She looked at him in surprise, then shook her head, eyebrows returning to their normal level. “I’d be happy to have you. It’s just that…” she felt annoyed with herself as she blushed slightly.

“Just that…?” he prompted.

“Well, would you mind terribly if I just ran in to use your, uh…”

“Oh, of course not, Sam. Come right in.” He opened his car door to lead her up his front steps.

 

Glancing in Mr Foyle’s bathroom mirror, Sam wished she could doff the jacket and tie and remove the pins from her hair, especially given that flirtatious soft wind, but a walk in public, especially beside her boss, demanded that she look all present and correct, even if the war _was_ over. At least closer to the sea, she thought, she might be soothed by that breeze.

Their walk was a long one, far up the way along the barbed wire coils that still would mar the beauty of the view for a few more weeks. They talked easily, as they almost always did: of work a bit, but mostly about the other things in which they had discovered a mutual interest. She asked if he knew what Andrew planned to do, now the war was over, and he asked her how her father and mother were faring. Twice—no, three times—she found that he was looking into her eyes in that rather penetrating way… his own eyes soft but searching. Sam began to know that something would be said tonight; that something would be discovered.

By the time they had reached the house again, the last of the light was still fading from the sky, the air was cooling further, and the brilliant pink they had glimpsed on the horizon promised a clear if somewhat sultry night.

As they reached the car, Sam made to open the driver side door, and Foyle touched her arm gently.

“Won’t you have some tea with me, Sam? I can’t really offer a proper meal, but I know there is a bit of soup and bread on hand. And some biscuits, I believe.”

She nodded and, heart fluttering, again entered the house with him.

 

“I’d like to help you get the dinner,” Sam told him. “But would you mind if I freshened up just a bit?”

He shook his head, smiling, and watched her climb the stairs again.

As Sam joined him in the kitchen, her boss noted that she had let down her hair into a somewhat tousled waving mass, feminine and intriguing. She’d removed her jacket and tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of her shirt. She looked cooler already, and she smiled with more sparkle now.

“Thank you, Sir. Just getting a bit loosened makes me feel much better.” She noted that he had done likewise, shedding jacket and tie in favour of shirtsleeves and waistcoat—and even that was unbuttoned.

“Good. For a moment I was still thinking I couldn’t open the front and back windows for a cross-breeze; that we still had a blackout to worry about…”

She nodded. Only a week before, had the breeze moved aside a curtain and let out a glimmer of light, the Home Guard surely would have pounced upon them.

“And now we can enjoy the glorious moon tonight.” She thought of all the years that a lovely moon had been a liability, lighting the way for German bombers.

 

Sam sat down at the kitchen table to cut them generous slices of bread.

“Mr Foyle…”

He almost winced to hear her address him so formally. Well, that, and the fact that he knew just what she was about to say—to ask him. On Tuesday she had learned that he was perfectly capable of driving if he had to, and she’d felt bewildered and hurt to learn that. Foyle knew that she wondered if her contribution to the team had been as important as she’d thought.

Her expression had been so pained when she’d said to him, “So… you never _really_ needed me…” And, given that Andrew had bounded in just at that moment, he wondered how clearly she had registered his answer: “I wouldn’t say that.”

He turned and she raised her eyes to his.

“Won’t you tell me why you chose not to drive for all those years?”

Foyle twisted his lips a bit as he collected his thoughts. He didn’t like to talk about the injury he had sustained during the First War. It was not so much debilitating as it was enervating; a gunshot to his shoulder had weakened it sufficiently that shifting the car’s gear lever could be a suddenly and unexpectedly painful thing. He also had assumed that he would be assigned a male driver, so that his impediment and Milner’s would be compensated for by some reasonably strong young man who could apprehend criminals, or help them wrestle one into the car if needs be.

Until Sam Stewart had clanged Keegan’s head with a dustbin lid, he had assumed she’d be virtually useless in this important regard, and at the outset she’d seemed far too talkative and glib about their work. But slowly, day by day, he not only became used to her chatter, but he looked forward to it. The sweet sparkle in her eyes and the brave way she handled herself in the pub bombing had reinforced his grudging admiration for her. By the time she had accepted a date from a young man—the same night that Foyle was beginning to realize how beautiful she was—he’d felt a sharp twinge in his heart. It took him only a month to fall in love with her, and he wasn’t about to ask for some other driver after that.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sometimes bothered by my left shoulder, Sam. I can go about for a time without any trouble, and then it will sort of… stab a bit. The idea was to have a driver to let me think things out as we travelled, without worrying about some sudden pain. And I thought it even more important when I decided to ask Milner to work with me, as each of us had some slight disadvantage.”

She was in deep thought, plucking a tiny thread from the tablecloth, but at last she looked up again.

“And there was something else, Sam…”

Their eyes met and he struggled for how to tell her. It seemed to him as if she returned his tender feelings, but he could never fully convince himself and reveal them to her. Faltering yet again, he went back to his dinner preparations.

Sam had not missed the conflict in his eyes, but she didn’t pursue his unfinished sentence.

“You know,” she offered shyly, “I so often miss the week I stayed in the spare room here years ago.”

He kept slowly stirring the soup on the cooker. “Do you, Sam?” He looked at her again. She nodded, then cast her eyes back down to her task. Why was it so hard to meet his eyes today? Each blue twinkle seemed to make something within her take flight; her knees were a little wobbly.

“Your house is so cosy and quiet, and my billet now doesn’t feel as much like _home._ ”

Though he said nothing, Foyle’s sweet face beamed around a very small smile, and she once again found herself yearning to hug him.

_If only you knew how much I wish this_ were _your home,_ he thought. _Utterly absurd. But whenever I’m with you I feel better… the loneliness is lessened and the evening feels comforting instead of endless. It’s just that I want other things for us, as well… things you cannot be expected to give me. If you only knew how much I love you. Love you and want you._

He thought all this with his head bowed over the stove, and Sam watched the tension gather in his shoulders and back. She had seen this happen before—he would be smiling at her one moment, then suddenly polite and distant the next, as if he had made some conscious shift.

Sam was formulating a thought so reckless that she decided she had better stop using a knife so near her other hand. She sat still at the table, gazing at the silvery silken back of his waistcoat, thinking that it matched his soft hair with its tiny up-flip.  If only she could thread her hands through that hair on a night as enchanted as this one…

Wondering at her complete silence, he faced her again. She was looking at him with eyes as large and dark and wide as they had been when she entreated him to let her talk with Graeme in the pub alone. Helping her boss in that way had been something she’d wanted urgently to try, but a touch of fear was mixed in. Now she had that same lovely doe-caught-off-guard look.

He switched off the cooker and covered the soup. Walking over to her, his eyes fixed on hers, he slowly took her hand in his so that she stood before him. He held it to his face.

“Even to _me_ the house feels more like home, when you are here.”

Her eyes grew even wider, and she held her breath with disbelief as she felt his fingers lightly trace her cheek. Then tears filled her eyes and her whole face came alight as she _knew._ She knew he felt it, too, and that it would be all right to tell him—to let him know after all these years how much she loved and longed for him. His hand was over hers and he turned his head to gently touch her palm with his lips. Sam’s knees trembled violently and the only way she could keep standing was to throw her arms around his neck and meld her body to his.

“Oh my darling…” she whispered.

“Is it really true, Sam?” he asked with wonder, holding her tightly, his eyes shut. “Do you really feel… this way, too?”

In answer she kissed him: one small peck on the cheek, one at the corner of his mouth and then another—soft, warm, lingering—on his lips.

He shut his eyes at the sensation he had not known for all too long a time; then took a deep breath. They parted for a second and he shifted his head; then his lips were firmly demanding hers. Sam put her arms around his chest and up to hook her hands over his shoulders to keep her knees from going out on her altogether.

As the evening had continued to feel so electric and anticipatory, Foyle had wondered if he might be able to kiss her like this, but he had not allowed himself to think any further than that. But to have her lips yield beneath his and to find himself parting them more… had he intended to let it go that far? She seemed not to object one iota to the loving plunder of his tongue; in fact she was pressing her whole body hungrily against his. She must feel how aroused he was by her proximity and her provocative scent, and by the slightly awkward but not-at-all-tentative way she was accepting his kisses, he thought. But she was not appalled or unhappy.

After minutes of this heavenly caressing of each other’s mouths they drew back slightly, and he sighed, looking happily into her eyes.

“I know this is when I should send you home, my love… any more of this, and things could get a little dangerous.”

She whispered against his lips, “I’ve felt the danger all day long, today,” and she laughed lightly as she felt him nodding his head vigorously. “And now I know you are willing to be in danger along with me, I’m ready to be intrepid!”

Foyle laughed softly, the fine lines around his eyes affectionately crinkling, but when she kissed him again he felt something akin to liquid fire in his veins and he backed her against the sink, pushing as close to her as he could get and moving his hips so that there could be no mistaking what he needed to do.

 

Sam was so buoyed by pleasure that she would gladly have allowed him to take her right there in his kitchen, but he pulled away suddenly and held her waist tightly, trying to calm down his quickened breath, just as she was doing. She felt the wet between her legs, and there was an unfamiliar ache there, too, as if it were perfectly obvious that the only thing in the world she was meant to do was welcome his body into hers. She took his hand and led him out to the hallway and towards the stairs.

His heart soared; still he halted them at the foot of the staircase, still struggling to be conventionally honourable. “Are you sure about this, Sam?”

She smiled readily. His beautiful voice was asking her this protective, concerned question, and yet it was so deep and caressing a sound that the question was answered for her…

“Yes, I’m sure about this. I’ve loved you since the moment you stuttered my last name, seconds after I first met you. I’ve only come to love you more since then. And if you think I don’t _want_ you…”

She raised her skirt and gently guided his hand to feel the crotch of her knickers. He shut his eyes tightly at the warm slick feel of her, trying to calm down his mental image of feeling that heat around him as he moved inside her. He pressed her against the wall suddenly, his hands moving up to explore the soft arc of her breasts as he passionately kissed her neck and shoulders.

She groaned and writhed against him until he was half-mad with desire for her and had to calm himself down enough to lead her up the stairs to his bedroom.

Instinct made him want to throw her on the bed and ravish her immediately, but he held back because he didn’t know the extent of her sexual experience; he feared hurting her if she had never done this… yet he did not want to ask her. Also, he so wanted to teach her what It was to make love for as long as one could, exploring each other, finding out what made the other wild.

Teach _her. I’m assuming she has never…_

Sam made it easy for him; she murmured as he lowered her onto his bed, “S— um, Christopher, I hope you won’t mind, but this is not my first time.”

He nodded understandingly, but she hastened to add, “It was before I finished school, before I ever came to work for you. And it was only the once. It rather hurt, but I’m told that is usually true only that first time. Is that—is that right?”

Christopher kissed her gently on the forehead and nose. “I don’t mind, unless it was an unpleasant experience for you. But either way it has made it easier for us.” He kissed her lips firmly but briefly, then added, “I’d rather be hurt than cause you pain, my dearest girl.” Another, deeper kiss. “But if for any reason this does hurt you, tell me right away and I shall stop.”

Sam nodded with grateful tears in her eyes. She had not shocked him with her little confession, and she was so relieved to have let him know. “I want you so much,” she whispered, her eyes locked on his. “Please take me.”

He gently removed her clothes and then his own, which she had unbuttoned for him as best her shaking fingers could. Lying beside her, he passed the flat of his hand from milky shoulder to breast to soft swell of stomach. Then, leaning over to kiss and nip her neck again, he moved the hand to her mons and stroked with searching fingers until he could insert one easily into her hot, wet opening.

Sam arched her back and moaned his name, and he thought he’d lose all control. He kissed down from her mouth to her neck to her shoulders and then her breasts, where he teased each sensitive peaked nipple with his tongue until she was almost flailing, her hands in his hair.

As he raised his head she suddenly turned over to lie prone, as if overwhelmed by his attentions to the front of her body. The great moon was on high, and in its light he could see a sprinkling of light freckles on her smooth shoulders and back. He massaged her suddenly re-tensed shoulders, then sweetly kissed each of the little constellations of freckles, an occasional flick of his tongue teasingly suggesting yet another way he might bring her pleasure.

Christopher lay his body along her right side and kissed and nuzzled the back of her neck, running his left hand tenderly along the curve of her left side and then suddenly turning her over onto her back again.

She gasped as he moved over her. His lips passionately claimed hers again as he moved lower and reached down to line himself up; then slowly, inch by inch, he entered her wet-velvet warmth.

“Oh, my God,” she moaned at the sensation of being filled and expanded by him. Far from feeling discomfort, she almost swooned at the sensual bliss of clenching her muscles around him, and she was gratified to hear his low growl of pleasure as she squeezed.

He strove to move over her slowly, but the sounds she was making and the exquisite softness of her body under his hands and the way she writhed as he filled her… all drove him wild. Oh dear Lord, it had been so long since he had felt this, and had it ever felt this good? Certainly his Sam was less inhibited, more noisily appreciative of what he was doing than he had ever experienced—what a satisfying thing it was to make a woman this impassioned, and to climb to the precipice with her as she cried out.

Their pace grew faster and faster and she keened as she could feel the climax about to happen, all too soon.

Sam tightened her thighs about his hips and tilted forward until she felt him touching the entrance to her womb. She was too breathless even to signal him that the waves of ecstasy were upon her before they immersed her, and she clutched his shoulders to her for dear life.

The gentle contractions stroked Christopher ever closer to his peak, but fearful that her silence meant she hadn’t yet reached hers, he fretted, “Oh, God, Sam… I can’t...” His words slurred into a long low sound and he twitched hard with the force of his ejaculations as he came.

Sam felt a flood of relaxation throughout her tingling body. The joy and fulfilment of knowing she had brought him to this would have been enough satisfaction unto itself, but she also could tell that his attentiveness and ability to prolong pleasure were always going to lead to beautiful sensations for her as well. For now, just lying there with his head on her breast, stroking his hair and listening to his breathing calm down, felt close enough to heaven…

By the time Christopher had recovered enough to murmur how much he loved her, she was sound asleep in his arms.

 


End file.
